


Forces Unseen

by oneprotagonistshort



Series: Wrapped Up [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Halloween, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneprotagonistshort/pseuds/oneprotagonistshort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Halloween 2012. Blaine is drunk and devastated, and all Sam wanted was some candy corn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forces Unseen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [novelized](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novelized/gifts).



> Written for Kaley because she is a terrible influence who plants ideas in my head at 11pm and then flounces off to bed while I stay up all night writing fic because I am at least a little bit her bitch. This was fun though, especially considering I'm new to blam. Also this is sadder than I thought it would be, my bad.

Sam had planned on having a relatively laid back Halloween, he really had. The fact that it was on a Wednesday night gave him a good reason to not go out much on the night itself, and he could find any number of excuses to get out of weekend parties. Halloween hadn’t proven to be his day over the past few years; last year he’d been covered in body glitter with mousse in his hair, trying to get middle-aged women to give him a few extra bucks for reminding them of that handsome guy in those vampire movies their daughters liked so much. Fortunately his Rpatz impression was damn near perfect and he’d made a killing, but it still wasn’t the best of Halloween memories. And of course the year before _that_ he’d been running around McKinley in gold man-panties while quietly slipping parts of costumes from the prop closet into his bag so his brother and sister would have something to dress up in. They never complained once that everything was too big or dusty from storage, and Sam had never been prouder. The fact that they’d both already started rationing resources by then and had each made their candy last for a month had always bothered him, though, so that was another Halloween he didn’t feel like reliving.

He’d been perfectly content to hang out with the Hummels (which was way less weird now that Finn was around more) and eat the muffins Carole had made and scare the shit out of one or two random trick-or-treaters with Burt.

Which is why when Blaine had called at 7pm (“Hey dude! I know it’s late but my parents apparently aren’t coming back from the benefit masked charity thing in Columbus tonight and I have vodka!”) he’d said he couldn’t make it and apologized for being boring and hadn’t noticed the pause before Blaine said, “...oh. Okay yeah, that’s totally fine. I should’ve thought ahead,” because Carole had a bag of candy corn in one hand and a bag of Halloween M&Ms in the other and Sam wasn’t sure what she was going to do with them but he was damn sure he wanted to be there to find out. He stashed his phone on the side table in the living room and practically sprinted to the kitchen because he knew that not beating Finn to good food meant not getting any.

By the time 9pm rolled around they’d eaten all of the insane Halloween Chex-Mix of glory that Carole had put together, and most of the muffins as well. The trick-or-treaters weren’t coming as frequently (which was probably good news, Burt and Sam had managed to make one fifth grader cry and then Sam and Finn had ended up taking the fall because “terrorizing children is not a good reputation for a member of Congress to have, boys.”) so Sam was chilling on the couch, watching the Charlie Brown special that was on every single channel, when his phone buzzed from the table next to him.

Seven new texts.

That in and of itself was a little weird; Sam didn’t text much, opting to call instead so he could get the message directly and not risk reading something wrong and missing something important. He opened the first of what looked like a series of texts from Blaine and started reading.

Oct 31 07:25 PM  
 _dude you are missing out, this caramel smirnoff shit cooper got me is awesome. i feel so festive_

Oct 31 07:39 PM  
 _sam you need to try this vodka is so good_

Oct 31 08:03 PM  
 _sam i think i drank too much vodka_

Oct 31 08:14 PM  
 _sam i totally drank too much vodka_

Oct 31 08:22 PM  
 _its okay sam i ate some cereal and im totally fine now_

Oct 31 08:46 PM  
 _wait does this mean i can drink more vodka time to find out_

Oct 31 08:52 PM  
 _good news i could totally drink more vodka_

Sam cringed as he scrolled through the texts. He’d seen Blaine drunk, it usually didn’t lead to good decisions being made. And Blaine was alone. And post-breakup. And _drunk._ Sam literally slapped a hand against his forehead when he realized what he’d missed earlier: Blaine was alone and sad and had needed Sam to keep him from making those bad decisions. This was only confirmed a few seconds later when the next text came in:

Oct 31 09:03 PM  
 _sam what do you think kurts doing_

If the other texts hadn’t been enough to send him flying into motion, that last one certainly did the trick. Texting a frantic “ _im on my way dont do anything until i get there,_ ” he stood up and went to the closet to get his jacket, grabbing his keys on the way. As he shoved his arms into the sleeves, he popped his head into the kitchen where Burt and Carole were drinking coffee at the table.

“Uhh, I’m heading out, guys, last-minute plans.” Sensing the approaching questions and not wanting to answer with “ _going to comfort your son’s drunk cheater ex-boyfriend,_ ” Sam said the first thing he could think of. “Artie needs me for his costume. He’s going as a rollerskate this year and I guess he went a little nuts with the shoe part and now he can’t wheel himself around. It’s me or his mom and Sugar said no one over the age of 30 is allowed in her house tonight unless they’re paying the mortgage. I probably won’t be back until tomorrow, Sugar’s been known to draw things out pretty late so people have no choice but to spend the night and be impressed by how many guest rooms she has.”

Burt only barely choked back a laugh and Carole shot him a look that was too fond to really be a reprimand, and she turned to smile at Sam. “Have fun, sweetie, but not too much. And drive safe, there are cops all over the place tonight.”

With a smile and a wave and a “see you tomorrow!” Sam was out the door. It wasn’t that he wanted to lie to Burt and Carole, he actually hated it. The fact that they cared enough to show parental concern was awesome enough that he didn’t like to risk it.

But Kurt was their kid, and Sam wasn’t, and Blaine _definitely_ wasn’t. He didn’t think the Hummels would necessarily mind if they knew where he was going, he just didn’t want to have to put them in the position of thinking about it. Blaine had messed up big time, but they were still bros. Still, Sam and Blaine’s friendship didn’t change the fact that Blaine had hurt their kid and Sam didn’t want to make it seem like he didn’t care about Kurt.

He also didn’t want to make it seem like he cared _too much_ about Blaine, either. Not that there was anything wrong with caring about your bros but recently... something had changed a little. Maybe it was because Kurt was in New York meaning Blaine wasn’t following him around everywhere this year, maybe it was because of the election and how nice Blaine had been about everything, even when Sam felt too dumb for the job or took off his clothes on stage.

He’d never cared about Puck like this, maybe because he knew Puck would rather just take care of himself, but it wasn’t like that with Finn or Rory or Artie either. There was something different with Blaine. And it wasn’t the gay thing, Sam had been completely serious sophomore year when he’d said he was okay with doing a duet with Kurt. There were a lot of terrible things people could be, and gay wasn’t one of them.

Which was harder to remember when the memory of himself, shirtless in a room with Blaine had played out with a different (and significantly less PG) ending in one or two really confusing wet dreams. Or seven. Sam totally wasn’t counting because it was a totally normal thing that happened to dudes sometimes. At least, according to the internet. He’d been too chickenshit to ask any actual dudes.

Sam flicked on the radio to drown out his thoughts and was just in time to catch “The Monster Mash.” He spent the rest of the car ride trying to do an impression of the voice from the song, figuring it might make Blaine laugh if he used it to say anything particularly ridiculous or obscene.

He pulled into Blaine’s driveway and killed the engine, climbing the steps to reach the door and ringing the bell. A few seconds later, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Oct 31 09:38 PM  
 _doors unlocked im upstairs_

Mildly concerned, Sam opened the door a little cautiously and ventured a few steps inside. Blaine was the kind of guy who seemed big on manners, so Sam was guessing that if he wasn’t answering the door it was because he couldn’t move.

Climbing the stairs to Blaine’s room (thankfully he knew the layout, he’d been over once or twice for debate preparation) he pushed on Blaine’s slightly-ajar door and saw- well, he didn’t actually know what he was seeing.

Blaine was sitting on the floor, back against his bed, fully dressed in a nice suit. Except the original jacket was bunched up on his dresser and had been replaced by a Dalton uniform blazer, and Sam could see a few striped ties strewn across the carpet in front of his closet. He was wearing the bowtie cape and mask from his short-lived superhero costume, and, for some inexplicable reason, a chef’s hat. In one hand he had a bottle of Smirnoff Kissed Caramel, the other was holding one of those oversized coffee mugs that occasionally doubled as soup bowls. From the amount of vodka left in the bottle, Sam guessed that whatever Blaine had been mixing his alcohol with was long gone and he’d probably been drinking it straight for a while.

Sam couldn’t help it. He’d seen a lot of weird shit in his life but this was pretty high on the list of messed up. Stopping dead in his tracks, Sam was saying, “Dude, what the _fuck_?” before he could stop himself.

When Blaine looked up, his gaze wavered a little, but he managed a small smile. “Sammy!” he said, the pseudo-excitement tinged with an almost bitterly sad tone that made it hard for Sam to believe Blaine was actually happy with how the night had turned out. “Knew you’d come. You’re a good guy, Sammy. Loyal.” The last word made Blaine’s face crumple into something pained, so Sam swooped in to take action before something regrettable happened. He didn’t know how to handle crying chicks, let alone crying dudes.

“It’s okay, man. Just... give me the vodka. I think that’s step one.” Sam held out his hand, hoping he wouldn’t have to wrestle it out of Blaine’s grasp. Surprisingly, Blaine handed it over without protest, and Sam sat down on the floor across from him. “Thank you,” he said, trying to seem like he knew what he was doing even though he had absolutely no clue. “Step two is your phone. I need you to give it to me.”

Blaine set his giant mug down on the floor next to him and folded his arms across his chest. “No.”

He seemed pretty adamant and Sam fought the urge to groan. “Come on, man. You can’t be trusted with technology right now. I don’t want to have to take it by force, but I will. I’m pretty sure I’ve got like, five inches on you.”

Blaine’s gaze dropped to the bottle at Sam’s side, and then he looked meaningfully between it and Sam. “I will if you drink. It’s sad if I’m drunk and you’re not but it’s a party if we both are and parties aren’t depressing.”

Sam sighed, and figuring it was the easiest way to get Blaine to cooperate, he took a swig directly from the bottle. It was pretty disgusting, even for flavored vodka, and it coated his mouth in sugary sweetness before burning its way down his throat. Reasonably sure he’d had enough to please Blaine, Sam set the bottle back down and held his hand out expectantly. Blaine looked reluctant, but pulled the phone out of his pocket and tossed it to Sam.

“Okay buddy, step three. I won’t go through your texts and invade your privacy or whatever, but only if you tell me who you’ve talked to tonight.” Sam needed to know how much damage control he’d inevitably get sucked into, and he especially needed to know if that included Kurt.

Blaine gave Sam and the Smirnoff that same meaningful look, and Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, before taking a substantial drink. If he was going to be babysitting a drunk and depressed former Warbler in a cape, he might as well get something out of it.

Blaine smiled and pointed a little woozily at Sam. “See? Now you’re getting it. I texted Artie a while ago about how I was drinking and he just said to holla at him if I wanted to get crunk, whatever that means. Cooper got a picture of the bottle because he gave it to me, and I texted you for like two hours. Happy?”

At least it seemed like he was being honest, Sam thought, which meant it was likely that nothing had gotten to Kurt and he’d arrived in time to prevent a disaster. “That’s good,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer, man, I wasn’t paying attention to my phone.” A mumbled word of forgiveness from Blaine, and Sam took another drink from the bottle.

“I drank, so now you have to answer my question, right?” Sam asked, running a hand through his hair when Blaine looked confused by the rules that he’d pretty much established himself. Deciding it was worth a shot, Sam pressed on. “What the hell is with the costume, man? I don’t really get what you’re going for.”

Blaine looked down at himself like he was just realizing what he must look like, and sighed. “Yeah I guess this must seem pretty weird,” his speech was slow and a little slurred, but at least he could still talk which Sam figured was a good sign. “Kurt and I always did the couples costumes, y’know?” Sam nodded, remembering Snooki and The Situation pictures that had been all over Facebook. Apparently figuring out that Sam understood, Blaine continued. “We couldn’t be things that needed each other-” his voice broke a little but he kept going, “this year, so I was gonna be David Burtka and he was gonna be Neil Patrick Harris.” Blaine pointed at the chef hat and said, “Get it? I’m a chef,” before pulling the hat off and half-heartedly tossing it across the floor.

Sam still didn’t really know who Blaine was supposed to be or what a chef had to do with the guy from Harold and Kumar, but he figured a deeper explanation might be a bit much for Blaine right now. “And the other stuff?” he prompted, taking another drink to make sure Blaine would answer and starting to feel the buzz of alcohol in his system.

Blaine paused for a second, looking like he was trying to make his brain catch up with the rest of the world. “Oh!” he said, finally. “I realized we couldn’t do the couples costume anymore so I tried to make one just for me.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of his face, indicating he was talking about the mask. “This was the most costumey thing I had, but then I realized I’d gotten it for a club that I joined for Kurt.”

He looked a little broken at the thought, so Sam distracted him by taking another drink. “Alright, that’s legit I guess. Take off the mask though, you look ridiculous. And that’s coming from someone who’s worn a bolo tie.”

As he took off the mask and unfastened the cape while he was at it, Blaine smiled a little, and Sam cheered in his head. It was a small victory, but still a win. The smile faded though, and Sam’s sense of accomplishment faded with it because now Blaine looked sadder than ever. “I put my blazer on because joining the Warblers is the last thing I can remember doing just because I wanted to. Everything since regionals that year was for him.” Blaine sighed and looked longingly at the bottle, which only made Sam grip it a little tighter.

Sensing the sudden and dramatic downturn in the conversation (not that it had been that lighthearted to begin with) Sam took drastic action and finished the bottle, slamming it back down to the carpet when he was done. “What a monster mash!” he said, using the most dramatic incarnation of the impression he’d been practicing in the car. “We’re getting graveyard smashed!”

Fortunately by that point Sam was moderately drunk and Blaine was a fraction less hammered so they were both just intoxicated enough to find it hilarious. Blaine practically fell sideways as they both laughed, and Sam thought it might be the best thing he’d seen in all week. He felt important to Blaine, not like with Santana who’d used him for status or Quinn who’d pretty much tried to use him for breeding or even Mercedes who’d eventually lost interest and left. Maybe it was a little weird to be comparing Blaine to his ex-girlfriends but Blaine was shrugging off the blazer and while he looked marginally less depressed he also still looked considerably drunk, and Sam wanted to make sure he was at least somewhere comfortable before he blacked out.

“Think you can get up?” he asked, and Blaine paused to actually consider the question before nodding slowly. Sam hoisted himself up, proud that he only wobbled a little bit, and held a hand out to Blaine. “Come on dude, let’s go.”

Blaine grabbed the hand being offered to him and between the two of them they managed to get a very unsteady Blaine more or less tossed onto the bed. Blaine laughed a little as he tugged off his tie and said, “Looks like I’m sleeping in my clothes, changing sounds like way too much effort.”

“Yeah, same,” said Sam, “I didn’t think to grab anything and there’s no way I’m driving tonight.”

“Good.” Blaine’s voice was half-muffled by the pillow he’d turned his head into. “Stay.”

Sam smiled but shifted a little uncomfortably at the thought of where he might sleep. He didn’t want to be presumptuous and assume he’d be sleeping in Blaine’s room, but the idea of sharing a bed was a little terrifying. “So... I’ll go find the guest room?”

Blaine stuck out one arm, flailing ineffectually at nothing in an attempt to stop Sam from leaving. “No,” he whined, drawing out the word as long as possible. “Stay with me. I need someone to make sure I don’t choke on my own vomit while I sleep.”

Sam laughed a little, some of the tension gone, and flipped off the lights before throwing himself down on the bed next to Blaine. Blaine had turned to look at him, so Sam looked back. “You know,” he said cautiously, not sure if he was overstepping, “You keep saying you’re the bad guy because of what you did, but I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Yeah it sucked, but you’d already given up a lot. I just think it’s kind of shitty for someone to ask for so much from someone, especially you.”

Blaine sighed and redirected his gaze from Sam’s face to the space just above his shoulder. “He didn’t ask. Kurt never would have asked. I just... gave. I wanted _him_ so instead of taking anything for myself I gave him everything I could.”

“Do it now, then,” Sam said, surprising them both. “Find something you want for you and take it.”

Something shifted in Blaine’s eyes and before Sam knew what was happening, Blaine had closed the space between them and was kissing him. And not “kind of awkward but mostly friendly drunk kissing” like he’d done with Puck that one time that neither of them talk about. This was actual kissing, _feelings_ kissing, and Sam didn’t know what to do.

He opted to pull back a little and said gently, “Dude, I didn’t mean now like _right_ now,” but Blaine just kept looking at him like he was desperate for any affection he could get. He looked exhausted and sad and more than a little drunk still and it was so ridiculous and Sam felt so pathetic for even considering it that he leaned in, but froze. 

Blaine closed the gap for him, meeting him in the middle and kissing him and saying things like “please” and “I need this” and “I want this” and “I want _you_ ” and Sam could only do so much to resist. Once he started reciprocating things went a little hazy, it was clumsy and a little awkward and a lot drunk and Blaine still tasted like disgusting alcoholic caramel but it was the best kissing Sam could remember ever having participated in. The fact that it was with a guy was kind of secondary to the fact that it was with _Blaine_ and he wasn’t sure when he’d started wanting this, but now he didn’t know much else. As the kissing slowed and it got harder to keep their eyes open, Blaine fell asleep between one breath and the next. Sam saw it happen, saw his breathing even out and his shoulders relax without the burden he’d been carrying while awake.

Sam stayed up for a few more minutes. He wanted Blaine, at least he knew that for sure now, but it was almost worse. It would be one thing to write off a few weird dreams and the possibility that he might be into dudes just a little bit. It was entirely another to write off “I kissed him and I liked it but I can’t have him because if I do I’m either the asshole who took someone’s boyfriend before they were definitely done or I’m the asshole who tried to get with the guy who just went through an awful breakup.” 

He decided he wouldn’t think about it. They’d wake up tomorrow and figure out shit like clean clothes and hangover cures and school (fortunately, being seniors with relatively absent parents allowed them to get away with a lot) and then they’d figure out what the hell happened and what to do about it.

Or, more accurately, they’d wake up tomorrow to Blaine laughing about how plastered he must’ve been because he doesn’t remember a damn thing beyond Sam being baffled by his costume. They’d grab coffee and Blaine would apologize for being a hot mess and a sadsack and Sam would graciously forgive him and never mention it again.

**Author's Note:**

> I might just have a sequel in me. God help me, there might be more than one. Stay tuned.


End file.
